Forbidden Love
by ILOVETWILIGHTANDHARRYPOTTER
Summary: Princess Isabella Washington is engaged. But it's an arranged marriage to who a man she has no true feelings for. So she runs from her home, her family, her past. Will she start anew? Will there be someone waiting for her in her future? First fanfic! R/R


**A/N - Heyys! (Beware of babble...:p)**

This is _our_ first fanfiction. And what I mean by _our_ is that more than one person worked to make this fanfic possible. Actually, more than two people helped to make this story possible. (Flabbergasted, aren't you? :p) May I mention the names? OF course (just not their REAL names - _DUH_). First of all, the rightful owner of this account is Aly. She's a bookworm - terrible disease I have to say. Aly passed on the virus to me (person writing this blabber) and now I spend whatever free time I have reading. Argh...:). Second, a girl who'd like to be called _Ronnie Swan _(obviously not her real name :]) is the one who is currently writing this babble. She has a horrible habit of getting off topic or making REALLY long babbles like this one. And last but not least, is Rosee. She's a twi-hard, which is something we'd all probably have in common. Hmm...maybe Aly might not be a twi-hard _*tears up at the sad truth*,_ but Ronnie Swan and Rosee are! *_cheers*_ :)

Sorry to keep you from reading our fanfic because of this babble, but sometimes babble is necessary. There's more of this babble down at the bottom of the chapter so...

And...REVIEW! We three gurls worked _real_ hard on this...;D

And now: THE STORY.

* * *

I grumbled in protest as the maid and helpers helped me into a tight corset then tugged the blue gown up and over my blonde head. Then they smoothed out the dress until it hugged all the right places.  
_  
Uh … NO WAY am I wearing THIS out!  
_  
I really didn't want to wear it. It was a _dress_, and even worse, it was a _strapless_ one. And to make it more awfully disturbing, it was _poofy _at the bottom, like an umbrella. I've never felt so-so-so…_awful_! Gosh, I'd simply _die_ right here and now if it meant escaping this torture session.

My mother sat from one of the luxurious sofas in the dressing room, eyeing me critically. From the corner of my eye, I saw her stand up and made her way to approach me. I only hoped that she would save me from trying on millions more dresses, that this one would be "the one".

She turned me around to face one of the many full-length mirrors plastered to the old walls. I shut my eyes tightly, not wanting to see the girl in the mirror anymore than Lord Frances.

"Open your _eyes_, Isabella! Or else I _will _make you try on more and more of these wonderful gowns the dressmaker has brought us!" Whispered my mother, her voice full of mock urgency.

Slowly, I opened my eyes to see my ordinary brown eyes staring back at me, narrowed in annoyance. My face stayed the same – _Thank God!_ – with the same blonde hair sitting upon my head. My hair was jumbled in a series of golden rolls, curls and twists, with many little barrettes and one tiny silver tiara mixed up in the mess.

I looked over my appearance. The dark blue ball gown contrasted hugely with my pale alabaster skin, and the coat of red on my lips stood out conspicuously. The gown was tighter up at the top, showing a heck of a _lot _of cleavage, and stuffier of the bottom. All around the bodice was little intricate designs of silver lace, twisting around the waist where the tightness of the gown met with the hoop of the bottom. I wish I could say I was ugly, but no, Mother wouldn't think that of me. Neither would Lord _Frances_.

I haven't even noticed it, but once I thought of _his_ name, one corner of my mouth pulled down into a grimace. Even if _I_ hadn't noticed the grimace, my over-observing mother dragged me onto a white sofa with hand painted designs on the armrests. She peered into my face, but by then, I'd already gained composure.

"Isabella, tell me what is troubling you at the moment, dear. Is it the dress? We can look for a better suiting one in a different style, if you like." Ugh, I did _not_ like her patronizing tone. I didn't want her pity, or anyone else's. I was perfectly fine.

I heard my mother's hidden threat of trying to find more gowns, so I shook my head, panicked. Golly gosh, my mother _did_ know my weaknesses very, _very_ well.

"I'd rather pass, Mother. Thank you for the offer though." I meant the first part with genuine sincerity, but my tone turned flat for the second half.

Just then, Emmalia came bounding through the arched doors with so much excitement and eagerness that she couldn't – or _wouldn't_ – hide. Her blonde hair, much like mine, came flying after her as a golden short cape to her fragile figure. I envied her natural curls, falling around her petit shoulders in small ringlets as opposed to my _iron-curled-then-hair-sprayed_ ones. But the envy didn't last very long though, as I looked at her face stretched into a wide grin.  
_  
"Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday dear Isabella, happy birthday to you!"_ My sister sang in her annoying singsong voice. Loud and annoying – one of the many techniques she uses when she wants to get on my nerves. At the age of twelve, she was already a pain in the neck.

Emma looked at me, then at the ball gown I was condemned into, and her grin got wider. "Look what we've got here! Enjoying your seventeenth birthday yet?" Her eyes sparkled mischievously, and I knew right away that I wouldn't want to make conversation with her today. If I did, then I would be an idiot.

"Yes, _Emmy_, I wasn't enjoying my birthday at the moment, but the instant _you_ came in, you made my birthday _worthwhile_." I said sarcastically. I'd even said the word '_birthday'_ with subtle distaste – not that Emmalia would care.

Still smiling, she slowed her jog to a fast pace walk towards – of course – me. She flipped hair ringlets daintily, and looked up to Mother with fake pleading eyes. "Mother, do you have any special dresses for me? I would really like to look as pretty as my grumpy sister over here. Maybe a little _more_ pretty, perhaps?"

I mentally gagged. Sometimes Emma is just a sweetheart, but there is some sort of boundary from where it gets sweetheart-ish to being a suck-up.

Mother looked down to Emmalia with her earnest eyes. Weird thing is that all the female members of my family had the exact same eyes – chocolate brown pupils captured inside almond-shaped eyes. As for the men, it's just like a lottery: you don't know what eye color you're going to get.

"Oh yes, dearest Emmalia. Why, I've even picked out an assortment of dresses for you to wear for Isabella's birthday dinner!" Mother walked towards the other side of the dressing room, then motioned my younger sister to follow. "Come! We'll see which fits you best."

I couldn't help but laugh at Emma's face, frozen in horror as she stared at the pile of pink gowns Mother had chosen for her. I knew Emma hated pink; she says it's a simply too young and girly colour for her. Well, that's called '_karma'._ It gets back to you somehow.

Emmalia shot me death glares as she dragged herself to Mother and the hideously pink dresses. I tried to control my laughter, but all I managed was snickers.

"Mummy," – Emma was using the name she'd called Mother before, well, 'Mother'. Maybe she was hoping for Mother to give her sympathy and let her choose which colour she'd like her dress to be in. Like I said, Emma was a suck-up. – "is there any _other_ dresses I could try on? Ones that aren't…pink?" Her tone changed from sickly sweet to annoyingly whiny, and she alternated between the two.

That made me just want to escape the torture chamber. And now I have more reasons to.

But from the look on Mother's face, I knew I wouldn't want to leave so soon. The payback Emmalia owed me for making my birthday worse was near.

"So Emma, are you saying you don't like the dresses I brought you? I thought you liked pink…" Mother trailed off, faking sorrow and hurt.

Emmalia's face softened by a fraction before she turned and glowered at me with more venomous daggers.

The moment of payback was too good to resist. I started to choke on my guffaws as they bubbled within me, but I settled once more for snickers.

"Mother, you know I just _love_ your choice in fashion! But do these dresses really have to be…well…_pink_?" It was clear in her voice that she was heavily exasperated with Mother's uncooperative attitude.

"Yes. They are pink because I said so, dearest Emmalia. Now we shan't waste any time! We have to get you dressed!"

Mother walked further into the dressing room, gathering up the extremely pink-oriented gowns in her left arm, beckoning my sister to follow.  
Emmalia did, and on the way to her torture room, she mumbled, "Pink _was _my favourite colour…when I was _EIGHT!_" If Emma thought no one heard her and the little scene that had occurred not too long ago, then she was completely wrong.

The maids and helpers around me giggled and chatted quietly amongst themselves, every now and then one of them glanced in my sister's direction with amusement glinting in their curious eyes.

I sighed and exited the room. I was dressed already; no need to be spending any more time in there.

But I had no where else to go. Not a place I had in mind. I sat down on one of the benches lining the corridor and began thinking of places I could seek refuge in until Mother's voice interrupted.

"Isabella? _Isabella!_ It's time for your dinner party! The birthday girl must not be tardy!" I heard the anxious _click-clack_ of Mother's shoes on the stone tiles as she exited the dressing room with a scowling Emmalia – dressed in a sparkly pink ball gown - right on her tail.

I flashed Emma a quick, triumphant grin before returning my attention back to Mother.

"Do I _have_ to go, Mother?" I paused, already seeing the answer in her eyes. The best bet I had was to lie. So I gave it a chance, even though odds were against me. "I'm feeling quite sick at the moment. I'm afraid I can't go." I wanted to slap myself for lying. The lie had gone awry, so false and transparent that anyone could've seen right through it.

"Well, you _have_ to make an appearance at your own party. Being 'sick' does not give you any excuse to miss the event." Mother scolded me.

Emma, who was eavesdropping inconspicuously by Mother's side, was the one who wore the grin of triumph this time.

And now _I_ was the one who was scowling.

"And besides, Lord _Frances_ will be there!" Emma murmured dreamily, her gaze locked in a faraway place that I knew wasn't called _reality_.  
My scowl deepened more so when Emma mentioned _him_. I was afraid that the scowl will forever be imprinted on my face if I had to keep on hearing about Lord…No, I wasn't going to think of him. Nor will I ever.

"Come on girls! Not a minute to waste! I bet Lord Frances" – a quick glance at Emma, whose mind was still in the clouds – "is already waiting in the dining hall. We must hurry _now_."

Mother tugged Emmalia and I along, and we both stumbled to keep up with her fast, determined steps.

Eventually we reached the big ornate doors that housed the dining hall. With a groan, the double doors swung open, revealing the long, elegant table covered in red silk tablecloth. My guess was that it must've been specially imported from China all the way _here_, to a little village called Buckinghamshire in the United Kingdom. Also known as "the middle of nowhere".

I wanted to explore the world; go to America and visit Disneyland, or go to Canada and see the Niagra Falls. But _no_, I was stuck in our castle, confined to the borders of our village until I would die of old age or some other natural causes.

I would also have to become a queen someday. Upon Mother's orders, of course. Being queen of an unknown village didn't sound that good to me. I bet Emma would gladly take my place as queen, with her crush, Lord _Frances_, as her ruling king.

Why would Emma want to be with _him_? I knew that if I always questioned her unquestionable behaviour, then I would end up somewhere. I didn't know where that 'somewhere' was, but I was pretty sure that it wasn't a good place.

The dining hall was full of people, mainly servants bustling around, filling plates and glasses, then eventually taking them away to be washed.

I caught sight of Father sitting at the head of the table, and as I looked behind me, I noticed that Emma and Mother were already finding spots. Emma sat right beside Lord _Frances_. Typical. She was obviously trying to get _his_ attention, but unfortunately she failed to do so.

The 'unfortunately' part, though, wasn't for my starstruck sister. I wouldn't feel much pity if _he_ rejected her – that probably would be best.

The 'unfortunately' part was for me. Since Emma couldn't get _his_ attention, something or some_one_ already has. Unfortunately, the focus of his attention was entirely on me. _He _was staring at me with those fathomless blue eyes, reminding me of the endless twilight of the sky.

I snapped myself back with common sense.  
_  
This has been the guy who bullied you for all your life_, _get some sense Isabella! Remember the time he took your gloves and hid it in the barnyard? And when you finally found it, it was covered in horse poop and some mixture of mud and hay! And you were FURIOUS! Just because he's acting nice NOW, doesn't mean he's always nice…_

I remembered. And I resented _him_ for all the times _he _made my life miserable and made me feel vulnerable.

As I looked around the dining hall, I noticed all the seats were taken except for one. The seat right across from Lord _Frances_. Lucky me.

I forced my feet to propel me towards the empty chair, then I stopped as a servant pulled out the chair for me.

At least someone was a gentleman.

"Thank you." I murmured quietly as I sat, for the servant's ears only. He bowed his head in acknowledgement, refusing to look into my eyes.

"You're most welcome, Princess." He said as he picked up more empty platters from the table and retreated into the kitchen.

I watched as he walked away, then I reluctantly steeled my gaze onto Lord _Frances_. _He_ was still staring at me, well, looking at my _body_ seemed more like the appropriate phrase. Then _he _looked directly in my eyes, all the impassiveness dissipating.

Now I could see the real him. The bully I've grown used to after all these years.

Lord _Frances_ raised one eyebrow at me, and motioned with one hand towards the gown I was wearing. "You look quite amazing as usual, Isabella. And happy birthday."

Well, that was a shock. Very unexpected. _He_'d usually tease me about how I was looking, throwing insults and hurtful comments my way whenever _he_'d had a chance to. Never did _he_ compliment me. Not _once_.  
_  
Frances_ chuckled, probably at seeing my flustered face, and reached for my hand that was up on the table, right where the knives and forks were.  
In my mind, I could see myself grinning sadistically, coming up with plans that were usually made by the crazy or mentally ill.

Knives and forks. Perfect.

But that would attract the attention of the many guests seated at the dinner. So I came up with a better plan – one that didn't require any blood shedding.

I kicked _him_ as hard as I could in the leg bone and as my reward, _he_ grunted in pain; it was a good thing that the tablecloth reached the floor. I noted that _he_ was staring at my chest – _pervert_ – so I crossed my pale arms over my bust and glared.

Of course Emmalia noticed. She practically watched _his_ every move, always waiting for some information about _him_ that would give her even a sliver of a chance of having a relationship with… I sighed, frustrated. I wouldn't want to think of _him_ when he was right in front of me – it would only resurface the bad memories. All the memories that included _him_ in my life were horrible times, mostly at my expense.

On the other hand, it would be best if I let the bad memories resurface when I thought about Lord Frances. With the bad memories, white hot anger came riding along with it. And I needed that anger to fuel my hatred. Needed it more than anything at this precise moment.

Emma cleared her throat uncertainly, probably wondering if she should continue with whatever she had to say. I didn't want to hear it, and she probably picked up on that and fell back into her chair, trying to make herself as miniscule as possible. Emma was blushing tomatoes – which meant that it would've been mortifyingly embarrassing for her to say it at all.

I bet that she didn't want to be here right now. Neither did I. But we had to get through the party, under Mother and Father's demands.

"Seems like you kicked him pretty good."

I jumped then swivelled in my seat. It was just my older brother, Derek. He had the blonde hair the rest of us did, but his eyes were sky blue, seeming as though there was this mysterious light always shining beneath them.

Derek snickered. "Sometimes, Izzy, you can be real easy to scare. Still don't like Frances, huh?" He whispered, careful to keep Lord Frances from hearing.

My lips twitched into a smirk. Derek was always the protective big brother, although he was only a year older than me. He was the same as always – anticipating a fight. He, too, liked Lord Frances as much as I did, and to be honest, I hated him. It bothered Derek to see I was in such discomfort when in Lord France's presence, so the hostility I felt towards Lord Frances might have rubbed off on him too.

"Nope, Derek. Never liked him. Probably never will either."

"Good to hear you're not brainwashed like Emmy over there. She's practically _drooling_ all over him."

At that, I just _had_ to release all the bellows of laughter I kept in today. The sound of it bounced off the walls, echoing from the empty halls and chambers. Everyone turned from their small talk to look at me.

I blushed. "Sorry. It was…um…a joke Derek told me." I spared a glance at Derek, who thankfully was making some funny jokes to prove my statement.

Father had risen up to stand from his end of the long table and everyone stopped what they were doing and stared. Even Emma stopped daydreaming enough to focus some of her attention on Father before going back to whatever she was thinking.

"As you all know," – Father's strong, loud voice came booming from the head of the table. He looked at every single person's face in turn, making eye contact and not faking his sincerity. – "today's Princess Isabella's seventeenth birthday. And I'd like to make a special announcement on behalf of one of these guests we are honoured to have here today." My father winked in Lord Frances' direction. I already knew what Father was going to say wasn't going to make me very happy, especially if Lord Frances was in on it.

"Next year, when our dear Isabella turns eighteen," – now Father paused to look at me, a smile spread over his jolly face. – "she will marry the most handsome Lord Frances, for whom we've come to know for many, many years."

Father kept going into his speech, but all I could do was stay still.

I was getting married.

Next year.

To _Lord Frances_.

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**A/N - REVIEW PLEASE!**

Sorry to be a bit unclear about this, but for some of us, writing stories are hard obstacles to overcome...or not. But you get the point. First fanfic here ought to be a little fuzzy until the reviews show up! Reviews basically SHAPE a story and determines its outcome. :) SO REVIEW!

And here's our proposition for you guys: Give us maybe...10 reviews! :D It's not a lot - really. Just type what you think about this story so far, what you'd like to see, if you want us to continue it and so on. And in return, we'll start huddling together once more to come up with the next chappy! :) Sound good?

Consequences: If you DON'T review, or if we DON'T reach our goal of 10 reviews, we might just abandon this project. And we didn't even get to the part where she meets Edward *_zips mouth shut*_ I can't promise you things that might not happen, ESPECIALLY if we don't get any reviews. That would be tragic indeed... :( So for now, until we reach 10 fantabolous reviews, we will not continue this wonderful journey of Princess Isabella (teehee - she's a blonde :p).

REVIEWS: Well, we don't really care what you put in your review. Whether its that you don't like it *_pouts*_ or you do - if you DO, then that'll lift up our spirits and give us some motivation for making another chappy. If you don't well...just let us know :(. Just REVIEW!

I think the next chapter will be written by Aly...I think...Hmm...probably. :) Just to let you know, we have different writing styles so you might need to get used to it. ;p

Main moral of this babble: *_gets megaphone* _REVIEW PLEASE! WE JUST NEED 10 (at least 10; we don't mind if it's more than 10 :]) REVIEWS TO CONTINUE! SO REVIEW! :D

From a very tired and satisfied,  
Ronnie - who will need glasses soon if she doesn't turn off the computer. Right. Now. :)


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